


Threads and Knives

by DT Maxwell (Draya)



Series: Our Blades Are Sharp [16]
Category: Star Wars: The Old Republic
Genre: Gen, Lucid Dreaming, Phae is plotting, Sith Shenanigans, and someone is poking around her brain when they really shouldn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 05:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1732448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draya/pseuds/DT%20Maxwell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only way to safely sneak into a Sith's subconscious is to follow her in while she sleeps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Threads and Knives

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my [tumblr](http://dragons-bones.tumblr.com/post/68187220980/perk-and-phae-go-dreaming-what-happens) in November 2013, as a response to the prompt, "Perk and Phae go dreaming. What happens?"
> 
> About all you need to know is that Phae's Sith associate Perkele/Darth Arachis (who belongs to tehjai) has the ability to go walking through other people's dreams, and that the both of them are plotting against Darth Marr. :D
> 
> Note that Tiri is not represented in Phae's mind simply due to the fact that she hasn't been born yet.

Phae did not normally remember her dreams, and she almost never had lucid dreams. (Nightmares were a little more frequent, but with a family to protect and her ever-increasing work with some of the darkest artifacts the Empire has in its possession, they were inevitable.)

So she paid attention when she did have one.

Phae blinked her eyes open and knew she was still asleep, sprawled across the black Killik silk sheets of her bed on the _Sekhmet,_ Androniko snoring in her ear with his arm tossed carelessly over her waist. Here, though, she was standing in formless, shifting gray fog. She was dressed in her leathers, too, rather than the relaxed spacer’s garb she wore on Nar Shaddaa or the high fashion, carefully tailored wardrobe of her officewear. So. Work related, but not her _official_ job.

She smiled thinly, and strode forward into the depths of her mind, tendrils of mist swirling about her feet.

Threads spread out before her as she walked whisper-quiet through the dog, and she gently plucked them as she passed. The burning gold one, passionate and fierce, for her husband; the soft rose, still fragile but growing stronger every day, for Xalla, lovely daughter of her heart; the gleaming obsidian razorwire, for knife-bright Kardea; the green cotton over a core of steel, for sweet and strong Arthanasia. There were others, for contacts and targets and rivals and grudging friends, but those four were the most important.

(Distantly, she thought she felt something _watching._ Whatever it was, it wasn’t malevolent, merely curious, so she elected to ignore it for now.)

Phae came to a black thread, thick and twisted so that it would be more probably called a rope, sick with age and rot. This one, she stopped next to and didn’t pluck, instead prowling back and forth as she examined it.

Darth Marr was a problem.

There was a knife in her hand, then, silver bright, carefully crafted with cortorsis weave, the hilt wrapped in long strips of black leather. (It wasn’t one of _her_ blades - if she had to worry about lightsabers ruining her knives, then she hadn’t done her job right - but she admired the craftsmanship anyway, and made a note to herself that a cortosis knife would make a lovely addition to her collection, if only so she could say she had one.) Phae ran the flat of the knife along the rotted rope, trimming away fraying ends as she did so, revealing new ones in their wake.

The pieces were almost in place. She just needed the right moment, and Darth Marr wouldn’t be a problem any longer.

Darth Makhaira smiled a jaggalor’s toothy grin and purred.

(And, somewhere, an echoing laugh answered.)


End file.
